


Need You Now

by taylorgibbs



Category: NCIS
Genre: Episode Tag, M/M, Nature of the Beast - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-23
Updated: 2011-09-23
Packaged: 2017-10-23 23:43:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/256419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylorgibbs/pseuds/taylorgibbs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gibbs' gut is screaming. Is Tony in danger? Spoilers for 9X01</p>
            </blockquote>





	Need You Now

Gibbs felt unsettled as he smoothed his hand over the wood, shaping a sled he would have loved using as a boy. After making small toys for Christmas- a couple years, back Gibbs had learned that the kids needed all sorts of toys, some he could hand make.

This was his third sled now, and Gibbs sure hoped they had a rough winter, like last year and the year beforehand, so that the kids could enjoy the sleds on a good foot or more of snow. Even though Gibbs was well past sledding age, he remembered the exhilaration of sliding down a snowy hill, hanging on for dear life.

That was a damn good metaphor for his life right now. The Port to Port killer, EJ’s team horning in, Levin’s death, Cade getting shot…and now this thing with Tony. It all had Gibbs off-kilter, as if he was a passenger on that sled careening downhill. Out of control.

And he wasn’t sure if he was gonna be able to dodge the trees in his path.

Gibbs picked up his beer bottle, tipping it up and frowning when he realized it was empty. He’d had a couple tonight, trying to distract his mind, settle his gut. It didn’t make sense to most people, but it worked for him.

Rather than going upstairs, Gibbs cracked the seal on a bottle of bourbon and drank one large slug. He considered pouring some into a jar, but he stopped himself without really knowing why, plunking the bottle down with a thud. He couldn’t get drunk tonight, for some reason. Something was causing his gut to clench around the leftover Chinese he’d had a couple hours ago.

Gibbs glanced across the room, wishing the sawhorse was occupied. In the last year, Tony’d taken to coming over a few times a week. Sometimes he’d cook dinner, other times Gibbs would, or they’d pick up carryout on the way home from work. Their conversations went from spaghetti westerns and John Wayne’s best performances, to cases, to NCIS in general, and even to the friends they’d lost.

They’d always been close, had always had each other’s six, but now they were a unit. More than coworkers, greater than friends, but sure as hell not brothers. There was too much between them for that. Stuff neither of them could verbalize, desires Gibbs read in Tony’s eyes, even if he couldn’t allow himself to act on them.

And there was so much unsaid, a long look from across the room, the way Tony leaned in to Gibbs when they were chatting, the naked desire when they’d drunk too much and Tony had to camp out on the couch. The way they tried not to look at each other the mornings after, wearing boxers, Gibbs stealthily checking out Tony’s ass.

None of that had happened in a while. This damn assignment had pushed Tony away, but at least Gibbs wasn’t completely on the outside. This was different from the last time. Then Tony’d nearly been blown up, killed. Gibbs wasn’t gonna let that happen again.

He glanced at his watch, knowing that DiNozzo would check in tonight if he could. It was something they’d devised when he was in Mexico tailing Franks. He’d bought a burn phone. Would call Gibbs and hit their code for 411 when Gibbs answered if he was okay or their 911 code if he wasn’t. Gibbs wouldn’t admit it to anyone but he was worried that someday Tony would hit the 911 and Gibbs wouldn’t be able to help him.

It’d happened before. Tony’d called saying he was in trouble and they’d nearly been too late. Tony’d been missing and Gibbs and Kate had only gotten there in a nick of time. He remembered rushing ahead, trying to find DiNozzo, the clawing feeling in his gut that he was too late. And the image of DiNozzo, head bowed, the inside of a car splattered with blood. Even though those incidents had happened years ago, Gibbs couldn’t get them out of his head.

Gibbs muttered sounds rather than words, and flicked on the TV, looking for a game, trying to quiet his gut—and his mind. If not even beer would do, he’d try an audio stream to distract himself. He returned his attention to his work, trying to focus on the feel of the wood, trying to lose himself in the rhythmic movements that would shape and create the sled.

But a part of him stayed attuned to his cell phone, waiting for a phone call he wasn’t sure would come. Tony didn’t call every day, though he tried. It’d been two days since he’d checked in, and Gibbs shouldn’t be concerned yet. But he was unsettled, restless, couldn’t ignore or deny it, or distract it away.

He threw down his sander and walked back over to the workbench, opening the bottle. One more drink wouldn’t hurt him. He’d sanded with a hell of a lot more in his system.

Gibbs tipped the bottle against his lips, intending to take a nice long gulp when his cell phone rang. He dropped the bottle with a thunk, lunging for his phone. The display said “Private.”

DiNozzo.

Gibbs impatiently jabbed the button, holding his breath and waiting for a tone. He’d memorized the code symbols 411 and 911. Tony’d picked up a burn phone that actually allowed Gibbs to hear numbers when they were pressed. 411 was five numbers, while 911 was conveyed with three.

Gibbs frowned when he was greeted with silence, but he didn’t dare speak. There was always the possibility someone had the phone, and had somehow mined the numbers. It was beyond Gibbs’ technical reach to know how they could do that, but he’d seen Abby and McGee come up with results that way.

“Boss?” the sound was confused, pained. All the blood drained out of Gibbs’ head and he clenched the phone so hard it creaked. He sprang into motion, grabbing his sport coat, jamming a hand in the pocket, and hauled out his keys. He pulled it on as he bounded up the stairs, sore knee protesting even over the burst of adrenaline flooding his system.

“DiNozzo. Tell me where ya are!” Gibbs didn’t ask what was wrong, why Tony sounded as if he was in pain. There’d be time for that later, but he had to get to him first.

“Georgetown. Alley…. Off Wisconsin. I…don’t remember what…” Tony coughed a couple of times, groaning low.

There weren’t many alleys in Georgetown that Gibbs could remember, but he would sure as hell find every one and scour them.

“You alone?”

Another groan and some pained gasps. The sound of Tony’s harsh breathing was setting Gibbs on edge. He threw the pickup into reverse and roared down the street, heading for DC.

“Ya safe?” Gibbs asked, working to keep his voice steady.

“Think so,” Tony admitted after audibly working to catch his breath. “Pulled myself into a door front, not far from….Blues Alley. Shadowed…enough.”

Relief burned a path through Gibbs. Tony seemed safe for now. And that was a landmark he knew, a legendary club his father had gone to just months ago. “Ya hang on, Tony. Ya hang on for me. Got your weapon?”

“In…hand.” There was a grim tone to Tony’s voice now.

“Hurt?” Gibbs asked, speeding down the highway at a full fifteen over speed limit, dodging other cars and barely registering the horns from annoyed drivers. He had to get to his boy. And even though he wasn’t sure he wanted an answer to that question, he’d needed to ask it.

“Live,” Tony muttered, coughing a few more times. There was a wheezy quality to his breathing that made Gibbs wonder if he’d been shot in the chest.

“Hang on for me. I’m comin’.”

All he had was his voice right now, and he wasn’t good with words. But DiNozzo needed him right now, needed him to be reassuring and confident, and Gibbs would give him that, even though he was furious and scared to death for his agent. Leon and SecNav were gonna pay for this.

“Knew…I could count…on you.”

“Always, DiNozzo. Always.” Gibbs winced at the sound of his voice, the quaver that he couldn’t hide. The emotion he was sick and tired of cloaking. It all came forth in a burst of sound, trailing off in something that wasn’t quite a growl or a groan, but somewhere in between.

“You…care?”

“Damn right I do,” Gibbs shot back, composure starting to fracture even more. He couldn’t stop the emotion pouring into his voice, and wasn’t sure he wanted to. “Always on your six, Tony. Always. We’re a team, remember?”

“Team.” Tony sounded so damn tired. Was he bleeding out? Gibbs crossed the river and swung onto M street, his tires squealing, dodging through the evening traffic. As he got near Wisconsin Ave., he pulled into the first parking spot he found and jumped out of his truck, slamming the door.

“Ya keep talking to me, Tony. I’ll find ya. Almost there. Stay with me.”

“Waiting, Boss.”

 

Gibbs ran down the street, heading toward the river, the heels of his work shoes slapping against the pavement. He’d gone less than a hundred yards when he saw a figure slumped in the doorway of a business. It was eleven, and most of the restaurants had closed. Nobody was around and Tony looked safe enough for the moment.

“DiNozzo!” Gibbs shoved his phone in his pocket and sprinted the last few feet, dropping to his knees. Even though common sense told him he shouldn’t move his agent, he had to touch him. Gibbs cupped Tony’s neck, supporting his head gently. Tony let out a happy, relieved sound, one that hit Gibbs deep in the gut. He brushed his mouth over Tony’s forehead, a gentle kiss, a feather-light caress that he hoped Tony would realize was only the beginning.

“Ya shot?”

“Yeah,” Tony said, motioning to his chest. “Vest. Hurts…”

“Vest.” The fist squeezing Gibbs chest released at that acknowledgment. “Probably busted a couple of ribs, DiNozzo.” Tony’s head was banged up as well, and Gibbs smoothed a thumb over it gently. “Gotta get ya some help. What happened?”

Tony blinked a few times, confusion shadowing the relief that had brightened his green eyes. “I don’t remember.” He bit his lip, pressing it between his teeth until a bead of blood appeared.

“Don’t do that,” Gibbs whispered, thumb running over Tony’s lip, gently releasing it from Tony’s death grip. When Tony’s tongue followed Gibbs’ hand and the light, wet brush of tongue stroked his thumb, Gibbs had to bite back a groan.

“Boss, I…” There was intent in Tony’s eyes now, not from relief or even adrenaline. There was need there. And comprehension and relief swirling around.

“Later, DiNozzo. Got a long time to figure that out.” Gibbs paused. “I know, Tony. Me too.”

“Need you now,” Tony admitted, staring up into Gibbs eyes.

Gibbs was silent as he did a cursory examination of Tony, tweezing the bullet out of the vest and dropping it into an evidence bag. He called the team and gave them the location, but ignored informing Vance or SecNav. It was their fault that Tony was in this mess. He could have been killed, and Gibbs knew it. He’d fill ‘em in when he was damn good and ready.

It was only after he’d gently helped Tony to his feet and had the other man settled in his truck, that Gibbs spoke again. As they sped toward GW University hospital, he turned to look at Tony. “Ya got me. I’m not leaving ya. This is only the beginning. We’ll figure it out, DiNozzo. Together. Ya got me.”

“Any way I want you?” Tony asked carefully. His tone was subdued, the high energy movie quoting DiNozzo gone for the moment. This Tony was real, vulnerable, and someone who was speaking to a part of Gibbs he’d denied far too long.

Gibbs dropped a hand to Tony’s knee, squeezing the other man’s hand, which was clenched in a fist on his thigh. At the first brush of Gibbs’ hand, Tony relaxed his, turning it palm upward and lacing his fingers into Gibbs’.

Gibbs glanced down, struck by the rightness of their touch, and nodded.. “Yeah. Every way you want me.”


End file.
